AN: I really hope you guys like this. I know it's not the norm on here but I love this so much. I went back through all my fics/drabbles/headcanons and found this. Please let me know if you want to see more of these because I have a lot.

She's a child when she notices. When she notices how her hair shines brighter than her own. It's an innocent vibrant orange, unlike her own blunt-cut black bob.

She's naive when she sees the freckles on her cheeks. How she kept them hidden under a veil of unmistakable Weasley red. And she knew the ginger had more than last year because she heard her speak of her love of the outdoors.

She's a pureblood when she calls her a blood traitor. When she felt that horrible pain her stomach, watching her stand a little too close to that mudblood, Granger. The relief she felt when it finally went away, only to realize it was envy.

And she's envious when she calls Granger a Mudblood. For placing a comforting hand on the lower part of her back while the young girl gripped the railing, hoping her precious boy wonder survived the first task.

She's full of self-hatred when she hears her voice, laced with anger and loathing, labeling her worthless death eater scum. Sometimes she wondered if anyone saw the tears in her eyes.

She's horrified when she realizes who she is. It wasn't a single moment, but years of events and little glances and feelings of confusion.

Maybe it was when her eyes drifted from her textbook and onto the girls in her dorm when they wore their skirts a little higher than Hogwart's dress code allowed. When Daphne or Astoria would playfully give her a kiss on the cheek or a supportive smack on her bum. Maybe when the lightning that shot through her body as the girl she'd been talking to all night at some club into leaned over and kissed her. Maybe it was when she kissed her back. Maybe it was when she decided she liked it.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was when she saw her. Standing in the middle of a battlefield. Defending those who couldn't defend themselves. She looked fierce and powerful. The scratches on her face and the long cut down her torso were gruesome. Yet she was the epitome of war and courage and the rebellion and everything Pansy needed. She was stunning.

She feels her heart beat a little faster when she calls her Pansy. Everything sounds better when it comes from her lips. She could scream and shout profanity as much as she wanted; it'd still be a symphony to her.

She's in love when she calls her Ginevra. When she sees her wife glare across their bedroom from her position at the bathroom door. She looked flawless. Pansy's old Weird Sisters shirt barely passing the top of her thighs, her bare freckled legs crossed over one another. A symbol of beauty, strength, and femininity.

They were a symbol. The definition of independence, love, and fearlessness. Pansy Parkinson and Ginevra Weasley.